Crazy diary man is currently keeping 8 journals, not counting his compulsive self-documentation on Twitter and Tumblr. Clockwise:
a sketchbook of cartoons collected from artists I dig
my own sketchbook (that’s my shitty Charles Wilson iii imitation, not the real thing)
A diary of what films I’ve seen
And a journal of what books, essays, stories, and comics I’ve read.
Finally, at center, is my diary-diary.
I also self-document my daily physical activity with the help of my UP wristband.
SO I LIKE DATA SO WHAT? I try to notice my own life happening. I don’t know why. Probably some combination of narcissism and a compulsion to keep track of what makes me happy and what doesn’t.
Window-washers dress as superheroes as they work at a children’s hospital
This is truly great.
Don’t tell me make-believe never did anyone any good.
Dorothy Parker’s telegram to her editor.
This are my thoughts at almost every deadline, but especially with this novel. The story is finally where I want it, but there are still so many rough edges I want to cry. I want every syllable to be brilliant.
Never have done such hard night and day work never have so wanted anything to be good and all I have is a pile of paper covered with wrong words.
David gets turned in tomorrow, wrong words and all.
(PS: Thank God for copyedits.)
Dorothy forever. Who among us has not felt this?
Ugh, so true.
I can’t look you in the voice.